


A Job at the Museum

by Brynn_Jones



Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: Case Fic, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynn_Jones/pseuds/Brynn_Jones
Summary: The diamond necklace that used to belong to the wife of the late president Abraham Lincoln has been stolen. Will Nero Wolfe solve the mystery?





	1. Chapter 1

It was exactly nineteen minutes after ten on Wednesday morning when the doorbell rang. Wolfe was upstairs on the roof indulging in his regular two-hour session with his orchids and our cook Fritz was out, hunting for fresh caviar, which left me to answer the door. I set aside the revolver I’d been busy cleaning, since there had been no real business to tend to, and went to the hall. Our visitor was a tall gentleman with graying hair and a well-tailored suit, who was wearing a worried expression on his face and an expensive-looking watch on his wrist. He introduced himself as Mr. Thomas Everson, the president of the New York Historical Society and the owner of the American History Museum that stood at the corner of 77th Street and Central Park West.

I gave him my name in exchange but since I’m not a president of anything nor am I an owner of any museums all I could say, after taking his hat for him and hanging it, was, “Now, how can I help you, Mr. Everson?”

He sized me up carefully before answering, “I came to see Mr. Wolfe. I have a very pressing matter to discuss with him.”

I led him to our office and positioned him in one of the yellow leather chairs in front of my desk, before sitting down myself and tucking away my revolver in a drawer. “Alright, why don’t you tell me about it?”

He squirmed in his seat. “I’d much rather talk to Wolfe, Mr. Goodwin.”

“And you will - at eleven o’clock. Before that, however, you’d have to talk to me since Mr. Wolfe is currently engaged and can’t attend to you.”

Mr. Everson scowled. “Mr. Goodwin, I don’t mean to offend you but I’d really rather talk to someone more competent.”

I decided not to comment on my current state of pique and went on to explain things, “Look, Mr. Everson, you’d be surprised how many times I’ve had this conversation with potential clients before. The truth is that no matter how much you plead, Mr. Wolfe won’t even entertain the thought of accepting you as his client without me - his personal assistant and legman extraordinaire - hearing your story first.” Now that wasn’t strictly the truth, of course, Wolfe  _ would _ and sometimes  _ did _ accept clients without consulting me first, but he also preferred to hear all the information I could gather  in advance. My opinion on said client was often also of an importance.

Mr. Everson wasn’t buying any of it. “I demand to see Wolfe this very instant! I come here with a very important matter and only a man of Wolfe’s qualities will be able to help me. The police are a group of buffoons, the trustees of my museum are impatient and the whole Society is very troubled,” he cried insistently. Now, I couldn’t very well comment on the accuracy of the last two statements but, needless to say, I could agree with the first one entirely - the police had shown their lack of wits and intellect in my presence so often I could probably write a whole book about it.

All in all, I decided not to continue with our pointless bickering and instead offered our guest some brandy. He accepted it with a curt nod of his head and leaned back in his seat. After the drink was delivered, I excused myself and went to the plant rooms to disrupt Wolfe’s daily routine. I reported everything that had been said in our office, word for word, and got only a one-syllable response for my troubles, “Pfui.”

When the elevator finally descended at eleven o’clock I was already sitting back behind my desk watching Mr. Everson dab at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief for the fifth time in as many minutes.

He jumped up when my employer entered the office. “Mr. Wolfe? My name is Thomas Everson, I am the president of the New York Historical Society and-“

“I know who you are, Mr. Everson,” started Wolfe after he sat down in his large custom-made chair and rang for a beer, “Mr. Goodwin told me all about you. He also told me that you refused to divulge anything except for some very vague information that you are in trouble.”

“I am, Mr. Wolfe, in  _ terrible _ trouble. The diamond necklace that used to belong to the wife of our late president Abraham Lincoln has been stolen! One minute it was there and the next it wasn’t. Terrible trouble, sir.”

“Mr. Everson, it would be very helpful if you could start at the beginning and explain everything as it happened. And sit down, would you? I prefer eyes at a level.”

Our visitor did as he was told and opened his mouth to start explaining, but was immediately interrupted when Fritz chose that exact moment to come in with Wolfe’s beer. Only after it was poured safely in his glass did Wolfe motion for Mr. Everson to proceed.

“My museum displays many precious artifacts from American history and one of the most valuable ones is a diamond necklace that Mary Todd Lincoln wore at her husband’s funeral. However, two days ago on Monday evening, it was stolen by an unknown culprit right before my very eyes. One minute it was there and the next minute I hear Jimmy yelling for the security!”

“Jimmy?”

“Please forgive me, that is Jimmy Cooper. He’s a nineteen-year-old boy helping out at the museum. A bright kid and what a help he is! I was just inspecting a lipstick smudge that I had noticed on one of the painting tags during my usual inspection - the tags are important, you know? - when I heard him scream, I turned around and the necklace was gone. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes that I had last seen it.”

Wolfe leaned back in his chair and looked at our guest through narrowed eyes. “Who else was responsible for the exhibits?” he asked.

“Other than me, there were three museum employees in the room - Jimmy Cooper, Carla Strauss and Perry Winston. They all claim not to have seen a thing and I believe them.”

“Very well. The police are investigating at the moment, I presume.”

Mr. Everson nodded. “Yes, but they haven’t found anything yet. A whole day has gone by and they didn’t even figure out how the necklace disappeared, let alone who’s responsible! That’s why I’m here, I need your help. If you could just take a look, I’m sure you’d figure it all out.”

Wolfe waggled his forefinger at him. “Mr. Everson, I don’t go around taking looks. That’s what Mr. Goodwin is for. If I do decide to accept you as my client, it’ll be Mr. Goodwin I send out to investigate.”

Our visitor shot me a quick glare before looking back at Wolfe, then decided it hadn’t been enough and turned to look at me again, inspecting me properly. Only then did he nod in acceptance. “Of course, Mr. Wolfe, I wouldn’t want to disturb the way you work. I will fully cooperate with both of you, I give you my word.”

My employer pursed his lips in satisfaction. “Good, I will accept your case then. Now would you be so kind as to tell Mr. Goodwin everything you know about the people that were present in the room at the time of the theft?”

I pulled out my notebook, a picture of the proper secretary I was  _ not _ , and looked expectantly at our client, while Wolfe did the exact opposite - he clasped his hands over the top of his stomach and closed his eyes. Mr. Everson started talking erratically and for a while I actually even took notes, but after the first three minutes of his unorganized speech, I gave up and busied myself with just listening.

We learned that at the time the famous necklace disappeared, there were nine people in the room – the three aforementioned employees, five museum visitors and Mr. Everson himself. Jimmy Cooper is a nineteen-year-old student working part-time at the museum as some kind of flunkie. His job description was anything from making coffee to throwing out ill-behaved visitors and it still didn’t pay all of his bills. In the mornings, he served in one of the cafés on 9th Avenue and at the weekends he worked on construction sites. Mr. Everson had said that Jimmy had a very hard life but that he never complained about it. At the time of the theft, he was patrolling around the room, checking exhibits, all the while paying close attention to passing visitors. Despite all that, he hadn’t seen a thing, which I found a little suspicious.

Miss Carla Strauss is thirty-two years old and works as a receptionist, which is a very pompous name for someone who sells and checks tickets, if you ask me. She lives with her mother in a four-room apartment on East 47 th Street and is hoping to move out. At least that’s what I’d gathered from various hints and insinuations Mr. Everson had dropped on the way. Miss Strauss is also a very dutiful worker, who tries not to socialize too much with her colleagues, never comes late and always makes her own coffee. She had been talking with Mr. Perry Winston at the time the necklace was stolen.

Perry Winston is a fifty-six-year-old night guard who has been working at the museum since he was twenty-eight. His hearing and eyesight are not what they used to be but out of respect for a fellow war-veteran, Mr. Everson hadn’t had the heart to fire him. Mr. Winston is a widower who spends his mornings sleeping and his weekends reading, which provides him with a never-ending supply of quotes from well-known authors. We found out he was very likable, and I didn’t even have to discern any hints to find that out, because Mr. Everson had mentioned it exactly five times in his recount.

The other witnesses were namely Mr. Michael Corigan - a post-office supervisor; Mr.  Richard Cassidy - a car salesman; Mrs. Paula Cassidy - a heavily pregnant wife of Mr. Richard Cassidy; Mr. Robert Gravey - unemployed; Miss Jeanne Taylor – also unemployed. Our client hadn’t been able to give us anything more than just that, as it seemed that the police hadn’t even noted down their addresses. Talk about a group of buffoons.

Mr. Everson also told us that after the theft had been discovered, the security guards were called in and all people present were searched thoroughly. Still, even after the policemen came and did the same thing, the necklace was nowhere to be found. That, along with the fact that a search of the museum had also proved pointless, had proven the assumption that the thief had hid the necklace somewhere in the room to retrieve it later to be false. Neither the witnesses nor the room itself were able to provide the investigators with any clues that would help them figure out what exactly had happened. The working theory was that one of the visitors must have somehow smuggled the necklace through both the guards and the police despite all the frisking. In conclusion, our client actually hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that the police knew nothing.

When Mr. Everson left, I turned to Wolfe, “So why did you accept the case? When I was upstairs in the plant rooms, all you said was ‘Pfui’.”

Wolfe slowly inclined his head. “That was because you’d disturbed me during my only time of peace, but after carefully listening to all the facts, I reconsidered.”

I grinned at him. “What did he say that made you reconsider?”

“He said that the police hadn’t been able to figure out how the necklace disappeared. That is very interesting, wouldn’t you agree? Normally, they fail to find the culprit but not the way the crime had been committed.”

I nodded in acquiescence but didn’t believe a word he’d said. Don’t get me wrong, the reasoning Wolfe gave me was nothing if not believable, but I think that what really made him take on the case was something different - our client saying that the police was a group of buffoons. I decided to let it slide, though, and waited for instructions.


	2. Chapter 2

Exactly nine minutes after two o’clock in the afternoon found me walking down the cobblestone path leading to the entrance of the American History Museum. I mounted a few steps, nodded to the doorman and walked up to Mr. Everson who was waiting for me in the hallway, exactly according to Mr. Wolfe’s instructions. He then led me through a department of Native Americans, upstairs past a temporary exhibit of famous American Scientists, before we ended up in the President wing. I winked at Washington, slowly walked past Adams and Jefferson, ignored the next five, stopped by Harrison and thought he looked a lot like Dracula, watched carefully the next six to see if they also reminded me of someone and finally stopped in the room dedicated to Abraham Lincoln.

It was about the size of our office, with glass display cabinets alongside the walls and a few wooden pedestals in the middle. There was a gray ventilation grid on the wall to my left that emitted quiet scratching sounds, which would be a nice hiding place for a necklace but I figured it was a safe bet to say it had already been searched by the police. On the opposite side of the room were three double-pane windows that were overlooking some kind of a parking lot - the middle one was open a slit and secured with a latch, so that only the spring breeze could blow in. Underneath the windows was a long radiator that was turned off for the time being. I looked around very carefully, inspecting the floor for any kinds of inconsistencies and even checking the chandelier just to be on the safe side. Then I searched out the pedestal that had carried ‘the diamond necklace Mrs. Lincoln wore at the president’s funeral’ as the tag informed me, and found it with the supposedly missing artifact sitting right on top of it.

Before I could raise alarm, Mr. Everson stepped up to me. “This is a replica of the real necklace, Mr. Goodwin, we didn’t want to make a big fuss over the theft,” he said. “Would you like me to tell everyone to leave so you can investigate?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I could take a look around but I think it would be just a waste of time. The police have searched the whole building, this room especially, and came up with nothing. That means that the necklace must have left this room before they came to investigate, hell maybe even before the guards frisked the visitors.”

“I can’t see how that’s possible.”

I grinned at him and walked over to the windows. “Really? I see just the way. Is that a parking lot?”

Mr. Everson nodded. “Yes, a private one. It’s mostly for our employees but we also accept deliveries down there.”

“And do you remember if you accepted any deliveries at the time of the theft?”

Our client shook his head sadly after contemplating my question for a while. “Truth be told, Mr. Goodwin, I have no idea. It has completely slipped my mind. Al would know though - he guards the parking lot.”

I grinned. “I’ll ask him a few questions then. Meanwhile, could you write down the addresses of Jimmy Cooper, Carla Strauss and Perry Winston? It would be most helpful.”

Mr. Everson agreed to do as I requested and then told me how to find Mr. Alfred Malcolm, Al for short, the parking lot guard. Following the directions I had been given, it didn’t take long before I saw the guard’s cubicle. Inside was Mr. Malcolm, a red headed gentleman of unidentifiable age, a cautious expression etched on his face.

“Mr. Malcolm? My name is Archie Goodwin, I’m investigating the theft that happened on Monday. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”

He didn’t react for whole twenty-three seconds and just when I thought he didn’t hear me at all and I’d have to repeat my question, he finally spoke, “Yes, of course. Do you have your badge on you? I’d like to see it.”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m not a policeman, I work for Nero Wolfe,” I explained. “Maybe you’ve heard of him, he’s a private detective. All I can show you is my PI license.”

He contemplated my reply. “Alright, let me see it,” he agreed in the end.

I pulled out my wallet, took out my detective’s license and let him have a long look. When I felt like he had enough time to memorise all the personal information my license provided about me, I slipped it back in my inside pocket. “Will you answer my questions now?”

It might be hard to believe but he thought hard about that too before answering, “Yes. Ask your questions, young man.”

I did, and I even got some answers but I’m not going to write out our whole conversation here, word for word, mainly because he was hesitant to answer even the simplest of questions and always used far too many unnecessary words to make his point. I swear that if I were to ask him if the sun came up today, he’d mull over his reply even to that.

In short, according to Al there had been no suspicious people wandering the premises around the time of the theft, which wasn’t as reassuring as it sounded, and only eighteen employees’ cars, one delivery van and one truck had been parked in the private parking lot. The truck had been set to take away fifty ceramic jugs from a temporary exposition of Indian vegetables that had ended last week, and the van had brought a supply of air fresheners for the museum’s toilets. It was the truck that had been standing right underneath the latched window - a middle-sized vehicle with the inscription of “West Side Ceramics co.” on its sides and a metal body. Al didn’t know where it was supposed to take the jugs after they!d been loaded but his professional opinion was that it wasn’t important. I didn’t argue with him, but I made sure that my face showed exactly what I thought of his opinion.

Back upstairs I received a small paper note with three addresses written on it and an assurance that Mr. Everson had no knowledge whatsoever of the destination of the aforementioned truck. When I realized that I’d found out all there was to find out in the museum, I went on my way to visit the Monday shift employees - my first stop being the likeable, literature-loving guard.

The apartment of Perry Winston was very nicely furnished with lots of dark-wood closets, glass cabinets and packed bookshelves. It was a typical bachelor place - there was only one armchair, one seat at a table, one basin in the bathroom and only one bed to sleep in. Despite all that, a trained detective’s eye could see that many years ago, there had been a woman’s touch in this place - even if that woman had had an exceptionally bad taste, going by the paintings adorning the walls. I sat down on a kitchen chair because the only other place to sit was the leather armchair Mr. Winston was occupying and I thought it rude to throw him out of it.

I’m not going to share our whole conversation, even though it was very interesting, because most of what we had been talking about had nothing to do with the theft. I’d learned, for instance, that Shakespeare might have actually not written a single play in his life; that J. Edgar Hoover and his boys hate John Steinbeck because they think he’s a communist; that the “forbidden fruit” the Bible so passionately warns against doesn’t necessarily have to be an apple; and that Edgar Allan Poe’s famous raven was originally meant to be a parrot. Now, as much as I’d enjoyed repeating all of that to Mr. Wolfe later that evening over dinner of a perfectly braised quail, the only valuable information I got in the two and a half hours I’d spent at Perry Winston’s apartment was that he likes to talk to people and that that’s probably what he had been doing at the time of the theft and therefore he has no valuable information for us.

“I truly am sorry that I can’t help you, Mr. Goodwin,” he had said for what had to be at least the twentieth time that evening, “but I didn’t see or hear anything suspicious.”

I nodded sympathetically, also for what was at least the twentieth time, and went on to assure him, “I understand that, Mr. Winston-“

“Perry, my friend, you can call me Perry. As a wonderful essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, ‘the only way to have a friend is to be one’.”

I grinned at him in response and started anew, “I understand that, _Perry_ , but maybe you could describe to me everything you saw anyway? You might not even realize it, but you might’ve seen something important.”

“Excuse me? You have to speak up, son, I am almost deaf.”

I sighed. I knew exactly how many times I’d heard that sentence before - this had been the thirteenth time. I repeated a tad louder, “You might have seen something important!”

“Yes, I suppose I might have, but I don’t think I’d remember anyway. As one of our best humorist authors Josh Billings said, ‘there are lots of people who mistake their imagination for their memory’. I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”

We went on like that for at least another half an hour before I finally admitted to myself that our conversation was getting nowhere and I decided to leave. Mr. Winston parted with me with a kind smile on his face and yet another quote, “Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.” I took a second to appreciate his attempt at a British accent and then was on my way.

The next address on my list belonged to Carla Strauss. Her apartment was considerably less impressive than Mr. Winston’s, with most of her furniture being at least twenty years old, and also a little bit more crowded. Carla’s mother was in the kitchen, baking some kind of pie with too much cinnamon in it going by the overwhelming spicy smell; her brother, who was probably just visiting for the week, was watching television in the next room; and a bird I’d rather not try to identify so I wouldn’t embarrass myself, was in its cage chirping away. I waited for Carla to invite me to sit down, but when she failed to do that, I helped myself to a cushioned kitchen chair that had somehow found its way into the living room and started asking questions.

“How long have you been working for the museum?”

Miss Strauss smiled at me politely but her words weren’t kind. “What does that have to do with anything, Mr. Goodwin? All you need to know is that I am very dedicated to my job.”

I didn’t even bother to return her smile. “Let me be the judge of what I need to know, could you please answer my question?”

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

I leaned back in my chair and grinned at her mother who just came into the room. “I’m not a gentleman, I’m a detective, Miss Strauss.”

My remark got me an unexpected reaction, instead of getting even more irritated, Carla let out a good healthy laugh. “Very well, Mr. Detective, I’ll tell you. I’ve been with the Society for six years now and worked as a receptionist in the museum for just as long.”

“And where were you when the necklace was discovered missing?”

She had obviously decided she liked me, for this time she went on answering without getting offended first, “I was having a chat with Perry.”

“About?”

“About that old lady that comes to clean our floors, Carrie is her name. She and Perry are by far the oldest in the museum - except for some of the artifacts, of course. I didn’t feel like she was doing a very good job cleaning but that old fool was defending her. We had a bit of a row about it.” She said this with such a sweet smile on her face that it had me wondering about her character.

“The old fool?”

“Yeah, I don’t really care for him much, truth be told,” she admitted, “You have to repeat everything twice, since he’s practically deaf.”

I smiled because I could understand her frustration, I’d just spent a good two and a half hours in the man’s company after all.

“Why chat with him then?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.”

“So you didn’t notice anything about the necklace, did you?”

I got a negative response to that, and from then on everything went downhill. She hadn’t seen or heard anything, she had no idea who might be responsible for the theft and all she cares about is for the necklace to return to its rightful place. I parted with her not long afterwards.

 

The first thing I noticed about Jimmy Cooper was his long nose. He didn’t even have the door fully opened and I already had to bite my tongue in order to swallow an inappropriate remark about its sharpness.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cooper,” I said, “my name is Archie Goodwin. I’m investigating the theft of Mrs. Lincoln’s necklace.”

“Oh yes, I’ve read about you in the papers, Mr. Goodwin! You and Nero Wolfe completely ridiculed the police when you solved the Paul Chapin case last week. You have no idea how I admire you for that.”

I have to admit, it took me a while to recover from that and when I did, I didn’t know what to say. On one hand, I took immense pleasure in having someone appreciate what Wolfe and I had done working on that particular case. On the other hand, I always get a little irritated when someone other than me insults our homicide department. I like to think I am the only one qualified enough to do that, as I spent significantly more time downtown than anyone else - with the exception of a certain Mr. Evan Rookard who had spent as many as a hundred and twelve days in a police custody in the last year alone.

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said finally. “May I come in?”

He smiled at me, opened the door wider and motioned for me to enter. I sat down on his blue leather settee without waiting for him to offer me a seat because I thought I could afford it with him admiring me so much. In fact, I even chose to take some liberty with my words, “So, what can you tell me about the theft, needle-nose?”

Jimmy laughed at my teasing, which proved he was still really just a kid. “I had been patrolling around the President wing and about half a minute after I entered the Lincoln’s room, I noticed the necklace was missing.”

“And the necklace was there when you first entered?”

He nodded without hesitation. “Yes, sir, it was.”

“And you hadn’t noticed anything?”

Pinocchio bit his lip. “Sadly, no. I made sure to remember everyone who was in the room at the time as called for security, but the thug had been able to disappear before anyone even knew what happened.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is that what you think happened?”

“Of course, I see no other way - even the museum employees were frisked.”

That was new information for me, because neither Mr. Everson nor Mr. Winston or Miss Strauss mentioned such a fact. “I think you might be onto something,” I told him just to make him happy and went on interrogating him. Soon it was obvious that young pencil-face knew nothing more than I did, and that he was enjoying our discussion greatly - probably because it was the first time he was being questioned by a detective, and a famous one on top of that. The last thing he told me before we exchanged our goodbyes was, “Thank you, Mr. Goodwin, it was wonderful talking to you. If you ever want to question someone again, I’m always available.”

I laughed. “Make sure to witness something worth questioning then.”


	3. Chapter 3

I returned to our brownstone not long before dinner and since Wolfe doesn’t like to talk about business during meals, I waited with my report till we were both seated in our office - he with a glass of beer and I with my usual tumbler of bourbon.

“What did you find out, Archie?” asked Wolfe when he assumed his customary position.

I took a sip out of my drink. “Verbatim?”

Wolfe nodded. “If you can.”

I rolled my eyes but it went to waste as Wolfe wasn’t watching me. “Of course I can.” I said instead of making some witty remark and went on relaying every conversation I had after I left the office today, except for the one with a cab driver on my way home and the one with Fritz when he opened the door for me. It took me long five hours to repeat everything and by the time I finished, Wolfe was nursing his sixth beer. I wanted to comment on that, because we had an agreement that I were to reprimand him if he ever failed to stick to his five-beers-a-day limit, but Wolfe started talking before I even opened my mouth, “Were they all telling the truth?”

I tipped my head to the left. “I wouldn’t know. Mr. Winston seemed to be telling the truth since he’d have to be a brilliant actor for the whole thing to be an act. I have no idea about either Carla or Jimmy but I suppose they have no reason to be lying.”

Wolfe raised his eyebrows and in that instant, I knew I missed something. “You don’t agree,” I noted. “You think one of them is lying.”

Instead of confirming my statement, Wolfe asked, “Did you find out where the truck with all those jugs was headed?”

I shook my head and picked up my phone book. “No but I can try.”

I searched for the telephone number of West Side Ceramics co., picked up my receiver and started dialing. I had to wait for several more seconds than I would’ve liked for anyone to actually answer and when they did, it was only to tell me that the secretary wasn’t available at the moment and I’d have to call again in a few minutes.

“Nuts!” I said after I hung up. I hadn’t even met the girl yet and I already knew it was going to be a long conversation once I got her on the phone.

“West Side Ceramics, Ashley Brisbane speaking,” answered a woman’s voice after I dialed the number for the second time.

“Archie Goodwin, I work for Nero Wolfe, you might’ve heard of him, he’s a private detective. We’re investigating a case concerning the American History Museum at the corner of 77th Street and Central Park West and we came upon the information that your company truck had been in the parking lot two nights ago.”

The secretary sighed into the receiver. “That’s possible, Mr. Goodwin, but I can’t know for sure.”

“It would be most helpful if you could confirm my information and find out where the truck went next.”

“I am truly sorry, Mr. Goodwin, but I don’t have such information.”

Now it was my time to sigh. “And can I talk to someone who does? I really do need to know where the truck had gone.”

The secretary agreed to find someone who could be of more use to me and I leaned more comfortably into my chair to wait. Her searching lasted almost three minutes, in which I was able to read a whole article about smuggling in Mexico that was on the front page of the evening Times.

“Mr. Goodwin, are you there?”

“Yep, still here. Older and wiser but still here.”

“You can talk to Mr. Gomez, he’s the supervisor of our logistics department and I’m sure, he’ll be able to answer your questions.”

I nodded, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Thank you very much, Miss Brisbane.”

She said something I didn’t pay attention to and then connected me to Mr. Gomez. I was surprised when he didn’t have a Spanish accent as he spoke, “Good evening, Mr. Goodwin, I was informed of your predicament. You said you needed to know, where is the truck you saw two days ago, am I correct?”

I nodded again. “Partially. I would like to know, where your truck went right after it left the museum.”

“Alright, Mr. Goodwin, let me have a look.”

I was left waiting yet again, so I decided to spend my time counting books with either red or green cover that were in our library. I was at the number thirty-seven, when Mr. Gomez spoke again, “Mr. Goodwin, the truck you asked about is in the South Street Seaport, standing at pier number seventeen. It’s been there ever since it left the museum, for the boat designated to take the ceramic jugs has been delayed.”

I thanked him for his time, wrote down the address he gave me and hung up. Wolfe looked up from his book - one with a green cover - and asked, “Were you successful?”

I inclined my head in agreement. “I was, should I go check it out?”

Wolfe said, “Naturally.” and I went.

 

Once at the gate that led to the docks, I decided not to take any chances with the night guards and called my old chum Dicks from a nearby phone booth. I got him on the phone and asked for a favour, “I need a free pass to get to the South Street Seaport, can you back me up in case someone catches me?”

He laughed. “I can do you one better, farm-boy, let me call the chief guard and tell him not to bother you.”

“That would be lovely, thanks. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, just do me a favor and don’t shoot anyone this time, alright? I know you trigger-happy guys.”

I scowled. “I’m not trigger-happy. I only shoot when someone has a revolver aimed at me.”

“Whatever you say, man. I still remember what happened to those two poor gentlemen that had the misfortune of meeting you down at your pier.”

I shrugged and checked the time on my watch, it was way past ten o’clock at night. “I was only doing my job,” I told him and hung up. The two gentlemen Dicks was talking about were actually smugglers that were involved in a case Wolfe was investigating back in 1933. I was working as a pier guard at the time and I was forced to shoot the crooks while I was guarding pier number eleven. It cost me my job because my supervisor hadn’t been happy I actually used the gun he had given me, but I hadn’t cared much because it was then that I met Wolfe and he offered me a job as his personal assistant.

I counted to twenty to give Dicks some time to call the docks guard and then climbed over the fence. It didn’t take me long to find the truck, because it was exactly where Mr. Gomez said it would be. What wasn’t exactly as it should be, however, were the jugs. Nearly half of them were shattered into pieces and the shards were scattered around the truck in a five-meter radius. I knew instantly that my theory of the necklace escaping by the window and falling into one of those ceramic things was true and also that I was too late. I took a look around anyway but wasn’t surprised when I found nothing resembling a diamond necklace in the truck or amongst the shards around it. I straightened up from crouching on the ground and decided to inspect my surroundings a little and hopefully find something worth mentioning. What I found when I turned a corner behind one of the buildings that were lining the docks, was not only  _ worth _ mentioning, it was something that _ had _ to be mentioned. There on the ground in front of me laid a lifeless body in a pier guard uniform with a gaping hole in its chest. I checked the guard’s pulse just to be on the safe side but it was pointless - the slug was probably still lodged deep in his heart. I looked around to see if anyone saw me and when I was satisfied that there were no witnesses, I went back to the truck and tried to recall everything I had touched, so I could wipe off my fingerprints. It was bad enough I had to call the cops, because it wouldn’t take them long to get my name out of the chief guard and connect me to the murder, they didn’t need to find my dabs all over the place on top of that.

I then went back to the phone booth and called Wolfe to inform him of my situation. When I laid it all out for him and he realized it meant I was going to spend some time downtown, he huffed and parted with me with a quietly uttered ‘pfui’.

I then dialed the number of the Manhattan Homicide, muttering to myself, “That’s just dandy... a dead man is just what I needed... the only thing missing is Rowcliffe.”

Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have said that because Rowcliffe was exactly what I got. When the officers finally arrived, I made up some feeble cover story about how I was there to meet a friend and how I found a dead body instead, which didn’t sit well with the lieutenant.

“I don’t believe a word you’ve just said, Goodwin.”

I shrugged. “You don’t trust anyone, so I don’t feel very special.”

He stepped into my personal space threateningly. “Watch your mouth, Goodwin.”

“You know, technically it’s a physical impossibility for me to watch my mouth,” I taunted him. “Unless there’s a mirror around, of course, but I don’t see one.”

He took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m not finished with you,” he finally told me in an ominous tone and went to talk to one of his sergeants. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against a wall to observe the commotion. The cops were wandering around looking for anything that would provide them with a clue as to why the poor sod had been done in. Soon, they figured out the truck had something to do with it, as I knew they would, the only thing left for me was to hope I really hadn’t left any fingerprints.

As it turned out, they didn’t need any fingerprints to think I had something to do with it. After they brought me downtown, they sat me down in an interrogation room and decided to let Lieutenant Rowcliffe handle my torture. That meant I’d gotten nothing to eat and only some water to drink. It is true that I might be a little bit spoiled, but lately it became normal for me to get a glass of milk every time I was interrogated and I was sorely missing it.

“You ready to tell me the truth, Goodwin?” started Rowcliffe before he even sat down.

I shrugged. “I told you what happened. I was supposed to meet my pal Jack, he didn’t show up, I found the corpse. End of story.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s a load of bollocks and you know it. Whenever you go somewhere, there are dead bodies dropping around. I refuse to believe that that’s a coincidence. I’ll bet you knew very well that you’ll find that guy in the docks.”

“Don’t you think that had I known that, I would have just given you an anonymous call so I could avoid all of this?”

Rowcliffe frowned. “I never know with you.”

I grinned at him and leaned back in my chair. “Can I go now?”

“Of course not! You have yet to tell me the truth about why you were wandering around the docks at eleven at night.”

“I was supposed to meet my friend Jack-“

“Can it! It’s bad enough I have to be here talking to you instead of sleeping at home, you don’t have to make it worse by lying to me.”

It went on like that for another two and a half hours before the cops finally realized I won’t tell them a thing and decided to let me go home with a warning not to leave town.

 

When I entered our office at nineteen minutes after two to check for any notes Wolfe might have left for me, it was obvious everybody else was already fast asleep - there was no sound to be heard in our brownstone as I went over to my desk. I was five steps away when I got a whiff of an unpleasant smell in the air. There was only one thing that could produce this kind of stench, the Pharaoh cigarettes. And sure enough, there were five of them in an ashtray on the edge of my desk. This meant two things – that Saul Panzer had been here to discuss whatever Wolfe had deduced from my report that evening and had probably been given an errand; and that since no one had bothered to hide this fact from me, not that they had any chance whatsoever getting rid of that smell, they wanted me to know. I once again mentally ran over everything I had told Wolfe, but wasn’t able to find the missing piece of puzzle. I took a deep breath, choked on the smoke-heavy air still lingering in the office and went to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When I woke up the following morning, I had a cramp in my left calf. Don’t ask me how I got it but I wouldn’t put it past Rowcliffe to actually manage to put it there. I took a long hot shower to get rid of it, put on my favorite beige suit and went downstairs to enjoy some of Fritz’s breakfast. I had just started on my fourth pancake, when Fritz brought down the tray he uses to serve Wolfe’s breakfast. There was a note on it.

_“AG: Report to the plant  
_ _rooms at nine._

_                                       NW” _

I grinned at Fritz. “Looks like I’ve been summoned by the king. How many of these do you think I’ll manage to gobble before I have to go?”

Fritz gave me a disbelieving look. “At least twenty at the pace you’re going, Mr. Goodwin.”

I acknowledged his estimation with a nod and took a sip of my coffee. If I was right, and I often was, Wolfe wanted to hear my report on what exactly happened yesterday night. In fact, I was a bit surprised that he didn’t ask to see me sooner but I guess not even a murder was more important than his breakfast.

I entered the plant rooms at the same time Wolfe did, the doors of our house lift just closing behind him. I bade him good morning and sat down on the cleanest wooden stool I could find. “Let me tell you everything I know first and then you can ask me questions, alright?” I suggested.

Wolfe sat down next to violet  _ Dendrobium kingianum _ and scowled. “I would prefer not to have to ask any questions, Archie.”

I shrugged. “I know, but no matter how exhaustive my recount is, you always ask questions to show me that there is something I’ve failed to mention anyway. You’d probably even ask me something unimportant like what were the first words Rowcliffe said to me, just to ask a question.”

Wolfe’s left cheek twitched in amusement. “Tell me, Archie, what  _ were _ the first words Mr. Rowcliffe said to you?”

I laughed out loud both at the absurdity of the question and at the memory of the lieutenant. “You should’ve seen him. He strode in like a man on a mission, took a look around and when he saw me he exclaimed, ‘Oh shoot me!’”

“Remarkable.”

“Yes, I thought so and I said so too. I even volunteered but Rowcliffe got agitated and started accusing me right away. He somehow got the idea that I had killed the man.”

“The police always seem to think so.”

I nodded. “Yes, the only time they didn’t suspect me was when I had actually been the one to kill the guy.”

Wolfe cut a leaf off his orchid and looked at me disapprovingly. “That’s not true, Archie. You shouldn’t tell lies just to sound witty. I am sure you are perfectly capable of saying something funny even without lying.”

I sighed. “I don’t lie. I just sometimes don’t tell the truth. Now, do you want to hear my report or not?”

Wolfe acknowledged me with a slight nod and I started. It took me only about an hour to give him the whole deal because I didn’t bother to repeat everything. It was pretty obvious the police didn’t have a clue that the murder could have something to do with a certain necklace, and I had been very careful not to let them know. Our retainer was on the line after all.

Afterwards, I went back to the office to do my morning set of chores. I emptied the trash can, changed the water in the vase on Wolfe’s desk, opened our mail and dusted the bookshelves. It was only two minutes before the time Wolfe usually came down from the roof that the doorbell rang. I went to open the door and ended up face to face with a red-faced Inspector Cramer.

“Good morning, inspector. Did you sleep well?” I greeted him

He scowled. “I did. The waking up was worse.”

I smiled at him in false sympathy and offered to take his coat. He gave it to me and didn’t wait for an invitation before he made his way in our office.

“Where’s Wolfe?”

“Probably just stepping into the lift,” I informed him. “Why? I thought I was the one who’d killed the guard.”

The inspector shrugged and folded himself into his favourite red leather chair. “As far as I know he could’ve ordered you to do it,” he said, which was ridiculous.

I sat down on the corner of my desk and decided to wait for Wolfe. We didn’t have to wait long because only seconds after my behind met the wood of my desktop, we heard the sound of our house lift arriving and its door opening.

“Good morning, inspector. Did you sleep well?” Wolfe greeted the burly man.

Cramer looked disbelievingly at him and then glared at me. “Did you set this up?”

I grinned at him but didn’t say anything. I had a feeling I’d be talking a lot in the next few minutes and I wanted to save my breath.

“Is there a reason for your visit, Mr. Cramer?” asked Wolfe.

Cramer pulled out a cigar. “You bet there is. Goodwin here is knees deep in a murder case ‘cause he found a dead guy and wasn’t able to believably explain why he was even at the crime scene in the first place.”

Wolfe nodded. “I admit his story is lacking a bit of credibility and creativity, but from what I was told, I believe there’s no inclination to suggest Mr. Goodwin is guilty of more than just having unreliable friends.”

Cramer bit down on his cigar and looked at me. “I’m not buying the friend-story, Goodwin, just so you know.”

I leaned back in my chair comfortably to show him I had nothing to hide. “Look, as I’ve already told Rowcliffe, I’ve never seen the guard before, I didn’t kill him and as much as you lot don’t like it, I don’t know who did. Friend or not.”

He didn’t seem to believe me, and I couldn’t really blame him with my track record, but I wasn’t totally lying for once. I really didn’t know the guard nor did I know his killer. “Come on, would I lie to you?” I asked after a minute of watching the inspector chew on his ever-present cigar.

“Yeah, you would. In fact, you can ask Purley about how many times you’ve lied to me in the past.”

“I doubt his record will be any good. As you’ve just proven, you policemen have no idea when I lie and when I don’t.”

Cramer sighed, tired of our banter. “I can see that I’m not going to get anything out of you today, am I right?”

I nodded vehemently “Very. I have nothing to tell after all.”

He leaned forward to look more intimidating but it didn’t affect me since I’ve seen him do it numerous times before. “Listen up, Goodwin,” he barked, “If I find out you’ve been withholding evidence in a murder case, I’ll have your license. This time for good, understood?”

My eyebrows rose on their own accord. Contrary to popular belief, Wolfe and I almost never actually withheld evidence, we just usually didn’t share our theories and observations, which is not illegal. This time, admittedly, we were walking the edge. I answered anyway, “Understood.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but got interrupted when the doorbell rang once again. I went to open the door only to find our client, Mr. Everson, on the other side of it. Before he could say a word, I told him in a hushed voice, “Whatever you came here to say, I bet you don’t want Inspector Cramer of Homicide to hear it. Why don’t you wait here in the front room for a while until I come to get you?”

He nodded and I shoved him in the room, closing the double door behind him. I looked around the hallway to make sure there was nothing to suggest Mr. Everson ever set a foot in this place and went back to the office only to hear Cramer say, “Listen Wolfe, I know you’re cooking something, I recognize the signs. So I ask you again, who’s your client?”

My employer shook his head patiently. “I told you, Mr. Cramer, I don’t have anything to say to you. Even if I  _ had _ a client, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Cramer stood up. “I just know you’re lying to me, god knows what you’ll pull out of your hat once you’re ready.”

Wolfe smiled. “I’m no magician, inspector.”

Cramer growled something unpublishable and went for the door. Right before stepping out of the office, however, he decided he was going to leave in a civilized manner, “Good day to you, Mr. Wolfe. I hope we’ll meet under more pleasant conditions next time.”

I felt like saying that it had been him who’d brought the unpleasant conditions with him but I didn’t want to spoil his exit so I only nodded to him. I waited for the front door to close behind him before telling Wolfe, “Mr. Everson is sitting in the front room, sir. Shall I show him in?”

My employer didn’t look too happy about it but nodded.

To say that Mr. Everson was impatient is an understatement - he was practically bouncing in his chair by the time I went to fetch him and when he saw me enter the front room, he literally leaped to his feet. “Is the policeman gone?”

I nodded. “Yes, the air is clear. You can come right in.”

He did and I motioned for him to sit down in the red leather chair in front of Wolfe’s desk. Wolfe nodded politely at him to welcome him and then went straight to the point, “Why are you here, Mr. Everson?”

Our client sighed. “I came to inquire about the progress you have made in my case. It’s been a whole day and I honestly hope you’ve been more successful with your investigation than the police was.”

Wolfe nodded. “I have. I still need a few more hours to conclude the case but I have certainly made a progression.”

“What kind of progression?”

“A significant one.”

Mr. Everson suddenly looked a bit peaked. “Mr. Wolfe, I assure you I don’t have time for any games. I demand you tell me what you’ve found out so far. I am your client after all.”

Wolfe’s left forefinger twitched in irritation. “And I assure you, Mr. Everson, that my time can certainly be spent more efficiently than by talking to you, for example by looking for a murderer.”

“A murderer? I need you looking for a thief!”

Wolfe didn’t look like he was going to elaborate, so I explained for him, “The person who’d stolen the necklace from your museum also most probably killed a night guard last night.”

Mr. Everson now looked positively sick. “Oh dear, I had no idea. Mr. Wolfe, please do forgive me. I truly had no idea.”

“Believe me, I would be very concerned had you  _ had _ an idea. As it is right now, I promise you, your case will be successfully concluded by today’s midnight.”

I stared. Not only had Wolfe outright promised something, he had promised he’d solve the case within such a ridiculous deadline that the hair on my back was standing up. If I hadn’t figured it out by then, I would’ve certainly realized now that Wolfe had the case already all sorted out in his head and was only waiting for the final piece of puzzle to fall in place. As Inspector Cramer would say, the rabbits were all in the hat, waiting to be pulled out.

After Mr. Everson left, I finally decided to confront Wolfe, “Sir?”

Wolfe lifted his eyes from the book he’d already managed to start reading in the time it took me to show our client out.

“I don’t mean to pray and I certainly don’t mean to disturb your usual way of solving a murder case - telling me absolutely nothing unless absolutely necessary - but I couldn’t help and notice you already know who’d pinched the necklace. My question is, what are you waiting for?”

“You are not correct in your assumption that I know the identity of the thief. I am now however sure of the identity of their accomplice.”

“Accomplice? There was an accomplice?”

Wolfe frowned. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”

“Of course not,” I denied, “I guess I just never realized there might be more than just one culprit. I guess it makes sense though.”

“Does it?”

“Well, it would take a lot of confidence to plan a theft like that - in broad daylight, in a room full of people, with a guard right behind the corner - you would need a reliable companion to pull all that off.”

Wolfe inclined his head thoughtfully. “Maybe. We now, however, stand before the challenge of finding out who the murderer is.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I don’t, you and Saul will do it for me.” I could’ve sworn I saw Wolfe raise his eyebrow teasingly but I couldn’t be entirely sure, so I didn’t comment on it.

“Will you tell me what Saul is working on then?”

“Of course, sit down and listen carefully.”

I did as I was told and not even five minutes later, I had an almost complete picture. Yesterday, Wolfe invited Saul over to our brownstone, offered him a beer, which he didn’t accept, a seat, which he did, and told him everything he thought Saul needed to know about our case. I refused to get offended, when it turned out Saul apparently needed to know more than I did, as Wolfe admitted he told him the name of the person he suspected stole the necklace. He’d made Saul write a short note on my typewriter saying,

_“Meet me at the same place_

_at the same time tomorrow.”_

He then had the operative anonymously send it to said suspect and go to stand in front of the museum to wait for the afternoon shift to end. It wasn’t hard to guess what he did next - he’d waited for the suspect, who Wolfe conveniently called ‘X’, to leave the museum and then went on to tail them. X went someplace in western Central Park, waited for half an hour, got flustered and then went to a motel on East 53 rd Street. Saul took a good look around but came up with nothing since Wolfe instructed him not to be seen or heard snooping. He then came back and reported to Wolfe only an hour before I returned home from the police station. Wolfe described the whole thing in a surprising detail, the only thing he didn’t share was X’s name.

“So you want us to have a look at that motel?” I asked after Wolfe finished his tale.

His only response was a barely noticeable nod.


	5. Chapter 5

After a hearty lunch, I met up with Saul two blocks away from 53 rd Street and the first thing I said was, “So tell me, who’s X?” even though I knew he would never tell me a thing if Mr. Wolfe hadn’t allowed it first.

He grinned at me and offered me a cigarette. “Wouldn’t you want to know?” he teased.

I declined the foul smelling thing with a simple hand gesture. “I would. Wouldn’t you want to tell me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he confirmed and lit his cigarette, “so what’s the plan?”

I shrugged my shoulders, annoyed. He knew perfectly well what we were about to do because I called him and informed him of Wolfe’s instructions not even an hour ago. I refused to play his little game of questions and answers, though I admit it might have had something to do with me being still a bit bitter about not being told the identity of the mysterious X. Saul understood my message loud and clear though, and headed for the motel.

Five minutes and several seconds later found us standing in front of an old building that had a dangly sign with the words “Astoria Motel” written on it. It goes without saying that the name didn’t suit the dodgy motel at all. Astoria gave the impression of a posh facility, which this little rat hole was decidedly not.

“Are you sure a person who had just stolen several thousand dollars in diamonds would live here?” I asked Saul.

He grinned. “If they’re clever.”

I shrugged and headed for the door. The interior was as bad as the exterior. There was one wooden desk serving as a reception in the middle of the entrance hall, a grey carpet on the floor, its original color not decipherable, and a balding man sitting in a corner - a cigarette hanging from his lips and a two-days-old newspaper in hand. He looked up lazily when we entered and drawled out in a heavy Brooklyn accent, “Whatcha here for?”

I went to stand over him so he could have a good look at me, while Saul guarded the entrance. “We’d like to have a list of your guests, please.”

The man scowled, the skin in between his eyebrows wrinkling and the corners of his lips turning downward. “Wha? I didn’t hear ya.”

I caught up quickly. “I have a few pictures of Washington in my pocket. You hear me now?”

He smiled an almost toothless grin and nodded. “Yeah, I hear ya naw. Wha’ did ya say ya wanted?”

“A list of all your guests. Names would be sufficient.”

The wrinkle between his eyebrows appeared yet again. “Seffi- wha’ are ya talkin’ bout?”

I sighed and looked at Saul who chuckled at me. “Just remember the Washingtons, alright?” I reminded the guy. “I said, names would be enough.”

He nodded, stood up and went over to the reception desk only to sit down again behind it. After three minutes of rummaging in the drawers, he came up with a leather-bound book that could’ve belonged to the Founding Fathers from the way it looked. He opened it somewhere in the middle and gave it to me. “Here, hav’ a look.”

The page he showed me was full of names, each name in a different handwriting. I could tell right away that at least half of those names were made up and I thought it was surely a lost cause, trying to figure out which of the names belonged to our necklace thief. I ran over them quickly just to be sure and when I didn’t find anything that would ring the bell, I closed the book again, getting a whiff of a stifling smell.

“Thank you, would you mind if we had a look around?”

He raised his eyebrows and outstretched his hand. I sighed and fished out three dollar bills, I held them out in front of his face. “These three are yours,” I said and fished out another four, “and those four say you’ll let us have a look around and not tell a soul, understood?”

He nodded numbly and grabbed all seven dollars I held in my hand. “Thanks, man. I neva saw a thing.”

I nodded at Saul. “We’re good.”

We decided to search the motel one floor at a time, going from one door to the other, both of us having a different approach to the situation at hand. Saul was pretending to want to buy some jewelry from the poor guests, hoping to catch our thief off guard. The presumption was that Saul would be able to tell by the guest’s reaction, whether he’d recently stolen any jewels or not. It was a good idea in its conception but met a few problems in its execution. The people Saul asked were always very confused at first, since no one has probably ever knocked on their door and asked to buy anything from them. Once they understood what he was asking, however, they actually wanted to sell him some of their precious family jewels. It always took my friend a very long time and lots of wit to explain why he had to decline their possessions in the end.

My approach was to knock on the door and wait for them to open, then pull out my license and quickly flash it in front of them, then saying in my best policeman impression, “You are under arrest.” The idea was that our guy would be the only one to try to run. However, it wasn’t without a flaw either. There was a high possibility that there was more than just one crooked character in a motel like this, and I was running the risk of scaring the wrong person. Thankfully, that’s not what happened in the end.

I’d just explained to an old lady from room number 79 that telling her she was arrested was just my idea of a joke and after she called me several names an old lady like her shouldn’t even know, I went over to the next room to knock on the door with number 78 on it. I waited for a whole minute before I finally heard quiet scraping noises and the door cracked open a slit. I flashed my license quickly and pronounced my prepared sentence, “You are under arrest.”

Now, every time a door opened, I stuck my foot right in, so that it didn’t close. Only once I was satisfied the motel guest was more or less innocent did I take the foot away. It was because of this precaution that I was prepared for what happened next. The person who had opened the door quickly tried to shut it back in my face but, thanks to my appendage, didn’t succeed. I shouted at Saul to get his attention and pushed my way in the room number 78.

Meanwhile, the thug was trying my patience by attempting to climb through one of the room windows. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, pulled him forcefully to the floor, patted him down and by the time Saul came in, I had him incapacitated with his hands tied behind his back.

“What do you want?” yelled the crook as I shoved him in a chair. I didn’t bother to answer and instead stood in front of him to get a good look at his face. He wasn’t much to look at, his cheekbones jutting out, his eyes just slits, his lips dry and his hair messy. The only thing that might have been considered attractive under any other circumstances was his straight nose.

Saul came to stand right next to me with our man’s wallet in his hand. “Robert Gravey, thirty-two,” he read aloud from his driving license.

I recognized the name right away and was relieved, when I realized we did indeed have the right guy. “Well, well, well,” I exclaimed, “Mr. Unemployed from our list of suspects. Who would’ve thought?”

Mr. Gravey got very vocal, “Hey, I have no idea what you want but I advise you to piss off! You don’t want to screw with me.”

I snickered at him. “I have an advice for you too, tell us where you hid the necklace and I’ll be nice to you.”

He shook his head. “I know nothing about no necklace. Let me go.”

I decided not to comment on his grammar. “Why would we want to do that?”

He gave me a pitiful response, “Cause my nose itches,” he said sarcastically.

“Don’t worry, my friend here will scratch it for you, won’t you Saul?”

Saul nodded with a grin and went to stand right behind our suspect, I was sure Mr. Gravey could actually feel his body heat, which couldn’t have been a pleasant sensation. I continued my interrogation, “Now, will you tell me where that necklace is or will I have to find it myself?”

He didn’t even bother to acknowledge me, so I lost my patience. “Alright,” I said, “I always liked a bit of a challenge.” I looked up at Saul and raised my left eyebrow. “Saul, scratch that nose of his for him, would you?”

As Saul shuffled his feet to tower over our suspect and went on to help him take care of his unpleasant itch, I turned around to search the motel room. I didn’t think it will take me too long to determine whether or not the necklace was here. There was only a small creaky bed, one armchair, one little table, the chair Gravey was currently sitting on and a wooden dresser after all. It wouldn’t take me longer than an hour to go through that and I could probably even drink a cup of coffee somewhere in the middle of it.

I was opening one of the drawers in the dresser, when I heard the first slap land. I ignored it and the yelp of pain that came afterwards, and begun to search through a hopefully clean pile of underwear.

Twenty minutes, eighteen slaps and fifteen exclamations of “piss off” later, I found a flat leather case in a light blue pillow that laid on the bed. I let out a triumphant “Aha!”

Saul looked up. “Got it already?”

I opened the case, pulled out a torn paper bag and in it, peacefully resting, I found a diamond necklace of the late Mrs. Lincoln. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, that was easy. Almost too easy.”

I shrugged. “He had no reason to think we were onto him and so didn’t feel the need to find a better hiding place, right Mr. Unemployed?”

Gravey scrunched up his face and I was surprised when he didn’t spit on the floor in the disgust he was showing. I stayed a few paces away from him anyway and winked at Saul. “We still have to find the gun he’d used to do in that guard.”

Saul snorted. “If he has any brains, it’s at the bottom of the East River.”

I saw Gravey wince at my friend’s words and smiled. “It’s not, is it?” I asked Gravey. “You actually haven’t gotten rid of it yet, have you?”

Our thug did spit then and I was glad I kept my distance.

“Where is it?” I demanded, sure that he had stashed it somewhere along his way to the motel from the docks.

He let out a gravelly laugh. “Like I’m gonna tell you anything. As far as you know I neva had a gun in my hand before.”

I shook my head as I observed his reddened cheeks. “You didn’t scratch hard enough, Saul.”

My friend laughed and took our hostage by his bound hands. “Come on buddy, you’re going to spent a few hours in the nicest house you’ve ever seen before you get to settle down in the Sing Sing for the rest of your life.”

I didn’t expect Gravey to start struggling again after Saul’s words and obviously neither did Saul, for he was shoved into a wall and kicked in a shin before he could say “correctional facility”. Once we overcame our shock, though, we didn’t have any problems getting hold of Gravey again, despite his continuous struggles, but we were certainly a little bit more cautious of each and every one of his movements.

I dragged our guy over to my car and shoved him inside, then turned around to face Saul. “If I’m correct, you’re not going to ride with us, are you?”

Saul shook his head. “God knows how you figured that out but you’re right. I still have one more errand to do.”

I nodded and slid in behind the wheel, Gravey safely bound and tucked in the back seat. I decided not to feel offended just because I wasn’t included into Wolfe’s little magic trick, mainly because I had a plan on how to find out the accomplice’s name before anyone bothered to tell me. All I had to do was get to our brownstone before Saul and then have a peek at the person he brings with him, because I was sure the errand he mentioned was to wrap X up and bring him to Wolfe’s office.

I was secretly smiling at the idea, when I realized Gravey was stifling a laugh behind me. I admit I was confused.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” I asked. I knew he couldn’t have read my mind but I had a nagging feeling he knew what I was thinking about and he laughed at the absurdity of it.

“Nothing,” he gasped and laughed out hard. I stared at him, thinking he must have lost his marbles. He was on his way to a certain arrest and yet he was laughing. He practically brayed in his amusement and just when I raised my hand to head-slap it out of him, the penny dropped. He was all cheerful because he knew we had no direct evidence to convict him of the guard’s murder. I could tell he did it from his reaction, when I asked him about the gun, but there was no guarantee he wasn’t going to put the blame on his accomplice once confronted.  He hadn’t been so happy while we were still in his motel room, though, which suggested there was still something there that we didn’t uncover.

I smiled at him sweetly “Come on, my friend,” I told him. “We need to go back inside. I forgot something.”

Gravey’s laugh died in his throat as suddenly as it appeared. “What now, man?” he asked me when I was dragging him back upstairs.

“We’re going to get the gun you’d stashed somewhere up there.”

Mr. Unemployed started struggling again but I was prepared for it this time. I tied him back to the chair that still stood in the middle of the room and started my search anew. I avoided the places I’d already rummaged through and decided to inspect the room more thoroughly, looking for loose floorboards or a hole in a wall, all the while keeping an eye on our suspect. Half an hour later, I still couldn’t find anything. I had searched every little piece of furniture in the room and if the gun wasn’t somewhere on Gravey, it wasn’t there at all - perhaps my first thought that he had left it somewhere along the way home from the docks was correct after all.

I stood in the middle of the room, staring at Gravey with a scowl on my face and sizing him up. After a while, I smiled - there was still one place I didn’t search.

“Get up, buddy.”

He looked at me and I saw as well as heard him swallow - I knew I was right. I grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him to his legs and with my other hand turned around the chair he’d been sitting on all this time. There on the bottom of it, right under the seat, was taped a nine millimeter revolver. I pulled out a handkerchief, wrapped the gun in it and stuffed it into my pocket.

“We’re ready now, Mr. Unemployed,” I exclaimed happily, “Mr. Wolfe is waiting for us.”

On our way to West 35 th Street, I was experiencing some very conflicting emotions. I was elated that I’d found the murder weapon and was sure I had earned myself a ‘satisfactory’ from Wolfe, but I was also a bit disappointed because there was no chance now that I would make it to the brownstone before Saul. I decided not to let it put a damper on my mood though and was chatting happily with Gravey despite his evident lack of participation in our conversation.

Once we arrived and I locked Gravey in our front room - checking that the windows were locked and wouldn’t open - I entered the office to see Saul already sitting comfortably in our red leather chair, finishing a plate of some kind of casserole.

“Where’s X?” I asked him right away.

He grinned at me. “In the dining room, along with the others. I didn’t know you’d get lost on your way here, so I brought everybody at once in case you decided to spy on me.”

I grinned at him. I should’ve known better than to presume he’d let me get away with my little plan. “I didn’t get lost,” I said, “In fact, I found something.” I enjoyed his expectant expression for a few seconds and then pulled out the gun out of my pocket.

Saul gaped. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Try and guess.”

He thought about it for a while and then shook his head in disbelief. “It was the chair, wasn’t it? He was sitting on it the whole time, bastard.”

“Yep.”

He smirked. “I bow to your greatness.”

I laughed. “Yeah, thanks. Wolfe’s upstairs?” I didn’t wait for an answer, since it was half past seven and if Wolfe wasn’t in the dining room with X, and since he very obviously wasn’t in the office, there was only one other place he could’ve been at this hour - his own bedroom.

As soon as he saw me enter his sanctuary, he asked, “What did you find out?”

I shrugged. “Nothing, I just came to say hi.”

He frowned. “Archie, I have a murderer under my roof and Inspector Cramer on the way here, this is no time for your jokes.”

I decided not to respond verbally, even though I came up with at least three ways to rile him up further, and instead pulled out the gun. When Wolfe’s eyes registered what I was holding in my hand, his lips curled in a subtle smile. “Satisfactory, Archie. Very satisfactory.”

I had a hard time suppressing the beaming grin that threatened to split my face into two. I got a pleasant feeling in my stomach every time I deserved a ‘satisfactory’ from my employer, but I would never want him to find out. He might just stop saying it.

After I reported exactly what had happened, Wolfe told me to expect him at eight exactly and sent me to help Saul prepare the office for our visitors. I left the red leather chair where it was, arranged the three yellow chairs to stand in the correct angle to my desk and made Saul bring two other chairs from the kitchen.

“There’s one missing,” said Saul as he observed the room.

I frowned. “Cramer in the red chair, Mr. Everson, Mr. Winston and Miss Strauss in the yellow ones, Jimmy Cooper and Gravey in the kitchen chairs and you on the couch. I don’t see a problem.”

“What about Stebbins?”

I shrugged. “No use bringing in a chair for him, he never sits down. Always standing over there next to the globe.” I barely finished my sentence when the doorbell rang. I went to open the door and came face to face with Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Purley Stebbins himself.

“Well, speak of the devil,” I commented, “Do you want a kitchen chair, Purley?”

He looked at me like I’d grown another head. “Good evening to you too, Goodwin.”

I rolled my eyes, took Cramer’s coat and hat, left Purley to take care of his own and showed them into the office. Cramer went straight for his favorite chair, which Saul had just deserted, and sat down.

“Where’s everybody?”

“They’re in the dining room, devouring Fritz’s casseroles. Would you like to have some? We still have around eight minutes before Wolfe comes down.”

He shook his head and pulled out a cigar. “I wouldn’t refuse a glass of beer though,” he added.

I looked at Saul meaningfully and when he turned to go to the kitchen to get Cramer’s beer, I sat down behind my desk, waiting for our mantel clock to chime eight.


	6. Chapter 6

At exactly twenty-eight seconds after eight, Wolfe entered the office to see everybody except Mr. Gravey, who was still stored in our front room, already sitting in their seats, or in Stebbins’ case standing by the wall as expected, with refreshments in their hands.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” he began, completely ignoring the fact that there was only one lady in the whole room, “thank you all for coming here tonight.”

There was a chorus of “good evenings” to be heard before Wolfe continued, “I’m afraid I have yet to meet three of you.” He looked directly at the museum employees. “You are Mr. Winston, you are obviously Miss Strauss and you are Mr. Cooper, am I right?”

They all nodded because, honestly, it was hard not to get it right and Wolfe contently sat down behind his desk to ring for a beer. Once Fritz brought it in and my employer gulped down half of it, the party started for real.

“Let me begin with describing the whole situation to you first. Mr. Everson came to me yesterday morning in need of a professional detective work because, as you all already know, the late Mrs. Lincoln’s necklace has been stolen from his museum three nights ago and the police haven’t been able to find a single thing so far.”

I saw Cramer smirk at that, possibly because it wasn’t _his_ police department that has just been insulted, and I winked at him.

Wolfe continued, “After I heard all Mr. Everson had to say about the matter, I decided to accept the case and I sent my faithful assistant, Mr. Goodwin here, to interview Mr. Winston, Miss Strauss and Mr. Cooper right away. To fully comprehend what facts were presented to me, it would serve us immensely to hear the conversations in their full extent. Archie, would you mind?”

I tried not to show that this turn of events was a surprise to me and that I therefore hadn’t prepared any notes and had to rely completely on my immediate memory, and nodded. It took me nearly an hour and a half to finish repeating the conversations and that was only because I cut off all the unnecessary prattle Mr. Winston subjected me to that had absolutely nothing to do with our case.

After I finished, Mr. Wolfe took his word once again, “How precise was your interpretation, Archie?”

“Eighty percent, I would say,” I estimated, the percentage lower than usual because I had been put on the spot.

“Very well, based on Mr. Goodwin’s interpretation, I became very suspicious of one of the museum employees.”

He went on to say something else but was interrupted by Mr. Everson, “One of my people? Impossible, Mr. Wolfe! None of my people would murder anyone, I am sure of that.”

Wolfe nodded. “And then we come to the murder. However naive I consider your comment to be, Mr. Everson, you are right in this case. Your employee has merely been an accomplice in a crime committed by someone else.”

Cramer spoke up, “Wait. So the employee you’re talking about isn’t the murderer?”

Let me explain the presence of Inspector Cramer at this point. Had this case remained a simple theft, Wolfe would’ve just explained everything to our client, given him all the evidence he had and would’ve been more than happy to let me handle the police and their interrogations. In other words, he would not invite any policemen into his office so that they could brag about solving the case afterwards. Since this matter turned into a murder case though, Wolfe overcame his usual malice towards the police in general and had actually called the inspector himself to invite him to our party. This didn’t mean that our relationship with Manhattan Homicide was any better than with the other departments but Inspector Cramer, despite all of our differences, was considered to be a friend in our household and therefore it was only polite to include him.

“No, the murderer and the employee are not the same person, inspector.”

Cramer’s cheeks reddened. “Then why the hell am I here? You said you had the murderer.”

Wolfe took a sip from his glass. “And I do have him.” He motioned to Saul. “Mr. Panzer, if you please?”

Saul got up from when he was sitting on our sofa, took the appropriate key from me and went to unlock the door to the front room. Everybody’s eyes were glued to the door, except for Wolfe who used this opportunity to finish his beer and for me. _I_ was watching the three employees for any signs of recognition on their faces as they first saw the murderer.

My observations, however, were proved to be useless because when Mr. Gravey entered the office, all three of the employees immediately recognized him - as they should’ve since they had all seen him get frisked by the guards and the police right after the necklace was stolen. I admit, I could’ve realized that had I thought about it a little, but I was really desperate to find out who X was and common sense was leaving me.

It was Mr. Everson who commented first, “That’s impossible. He was properly searched by the police on his way out, there was no way he could’ve stolen the necklace. The police must be even more incompetent than I thought!”

Five things happened at once after his exclamation, Cramer winced at the harsh comment, Mr. Wolfe raised his eyebrows, Saul’s hand twitched towards his gun, Mr. Unemployed barked out a laugh and the mantel clock chimed ten.

“Sit down, Mr. Gravey,” said Wolfe when the clock finished. He waited for Saul to drag Gravey to the remaining kitchen chair and then turned to look at our client. “Let me explain everything. To address your accusation of incompetence, even though I would normally agree with you, it wasn’t the officers’ fault that Mr. Gravey hadn’t been caught on the spot for the necklace had left the room long before they even arrived at the scene.”

Now it was Cramer who asked the obvious question. “How did he do it then?”

Wolfe’s lips twitched. “It was a very clever move on his part, I admit, but still not clever enough because Mr. Goodwin was able to uncover his trick in the first few minutes he spent in the museum.”

Mr. Everson jumped up from where he sat. “He did? Why didn’t he tell me, then? I was standing right next to him the whole time.”

I shrugged. “I did tell you, sort of.”

Wolfe frowned at me. “Archie, please.” He then looked at back at our client. “Mr. Everson, forgive me. To answer your question, the necklace was taken from its place and brought over to the window, where it was dropped down onto the parking lot only to be retrieved minutes later.”

Instead of appreciating Wolfe’s explanation, Mr. Everson looked accusingly at Gravey. “He dropped it from a window? On a concrete? Are you insane, you fool?”

I stepped in between our client and the thief to ensure everybody’s safety, while Wolfe continued, “Calm down, Mr. Everson, please.  No diamond is going to break while being dropped on anything.”

People in our office started talking over each other, all excitedly commenting on this turn of events. The voice of police Inspector Cramer rose above all, “Excuse me, but is no one really interested in the fact this man is a murderer? To hell with a sodding necklace! Tell me why he killed the guard so I can wrap it up.”

Wolfe waved his hand patiently. “I will get to that, inspector, if you please. After Mr. Gravey dropped the necklace and subjected himself to two personal searches, he went to the private parking lot, expecting to see the diamond necklace on the ground. Instead of that, however, he saw a truck from Western Ceramics, presumably speeding away with the necklace he so unlawfully considered his. Now, I can’t possibly know that with a hundred percent certainty, but the course of action he took afterwards fully supports this presumption because Mr. Gravey decided to go in search of said truck. I am positive he hadn’t used the same way Mr. Goodwin had and hadn’t called the company, but with a little bit of work on your side, Mr. Cramer, I’m sure you will be able to learn how exactly did he go about it. The point is, he _had_ found the truck in the end, parked in the South Street Seaport. That is where Mr. Goodwin found it only hours later with a dead man’s body next to it.”

“I knew it! I wasn’t buying that ‘friend story’,” grumbled Cramer.

Wolfe ignored him. “Archie, would you please give the inspector what you’ve found in Mr. Gravey’s motel room along with the whole story of how you found it?”

I pulled out the handkerchief-wrapped gun and passed it over to Cramer along with the whole tale as requested. When I finished, it was already quarter to eleven.

Cramer looked very satisfied with my job, asking only a few questions along the way and nodding contently at Stebbins. Just as Cramer started to get up to take care of Gravey, Wolfe pulled the other rabbit out of his hat. “Mr. Cramer, there is more than just one culprit as I’ve already mentioned, sit down.”

The inspector did just that and Wolfe continued, “There is another person here that desperately needed money. A person that was also very easy to manipulate as Mr. Goodwin unintentionally found out during his conversation with them. A person that had tried to provide as much distraction as possible, while Mr. Gravey was stealing the necklace. A person you’ll have to arrest as well for accessory to murder.”

Mr. Everson got impatient. “Cease the games, Mr. Wolfe. Who is this person?”

Mr. Wolfe shot him a glare, probably annoyed that he dared to interrupt his speech. “The person helping Mr. Gravey in his criminal activities was Miss Strauss.”

After his statement, all hell broke loose. Miss Strauss started hysterically yelling that it was not true and that she would sue Wolfe the first chance she got; Stebbins quickly went to stand over her; Gravey started laughing yet again, confirming my suspicion he belonged to some psychiatric facility; Mr. Everson leapt from his chair, presumably on his way to throttle Miss Strauss; I went to restrain him while Saul tried to calm down a frantic Mr. Winston; Jimmy Cooper went to refill his glass with Scotch Whisky and Wolfe moved his left hand about an inch to the left to rest it on the armrest.

It took us about eight minutes to calm everybody down again, so Wolfe could continue with his performance. “As soon as I heard about the theft, I knew it wasn’t the work of one person. The one who actually performed the theft must have logically been one of the visitors but the accomplice responsible for the needed distractions - a lipstick stain on one of the tags, a loud conversation with the guard - had to be someone else. I first started to suspect Miss Strauss when I heard about the lipstick, for only someone working at the museum could’ve known about Mr. Everson’s habit of cleaning the tags and she was the only woman working at the museum who was present in the room. My suspicions were more or less confirmed after I listened to Mr. Goodwin’s report of his interview with her. Archie, would you mind repeating what followed after she said Mr. Winston was practically deaf?”

I nodded. “I asked her, why chat with him then, and she answered with, ‘a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do’.”

Wolfe nodded. “Yes, didn’t that strike you as unusual? A phrase like that may suggest she was either ordered to chat with him or she felt she must for some reason. Now, there is no rule that says one has to talk to their coworkers, although it does make life admittedly easier, so I inferred that Miss Strauss had to talk with the guard in order to distract him.”

Carla Strauss had to voice her opinion again, “That’s no proof, you fool. You have nothing. You can’t have anything because I didn’t do it. That’s no proof!”

Mr. Wolfe rang for another beer. “I never said it was, Miss Strauss. It merely supplied me with a suspicion about who the accomplice was. You desperately needed some money to leave your mother’s apartment and buy some place where you could live with Mr. Gravey. What assured me that presumption was correct was Mr. Panzer’s most successful errand. Would you mind describing it for us, Saul?”

The detective in question shook his head. “Not at all, sir.”

I rolled my eyes at him as he started his very interesting narration of him sending an anonymous note to now not-so-mysterious X. When Wolfe had his beer and Saul finally finished, Miss Strauss laughed bitterly and attempted to stand up only to be shoved back down by Purley.

“That doesn’t prove anything as well, Mr. Wolfe. I thought it was my friend sending me that note. I was very confused when she didn’t show up.”

Mr. Wolfe smiled. “The fact that afterwards you went to the exact same motel that Mr. Gravey lived in is however quite telling, is it not?”

Gravey finally lost his temper, “Ya little hussy! I told ya not to contact me in any way and ya not only came but brought a group of shamuses with ya! Are ya stupid?”

I let out a sigh of relief and I suspected that so did Wolfe because what we had certainly wasn’t enough to convict Carla of anything, no matter how hard Wolfe tried to convince our guests of the opposite. Inspector Cramer however seemed satisfied as he ordered Stebbins to handcuff her and he himself went to Mr. Unemployed. On his way out, he turned to look back at Wolfe and shook his head. “You can’t be happy with just pulling a rabbit out of a hat, you have to pull the hat out of the rabbit.”

I laughed at that and went to see him and his captives out. When I returned to the office, Mr. Everson was just handing Wolfe his cheque in exchange for Mrs. Lincoln’s diamond necklace, Saul was sitting on the corner of my desk grinning stupidly, Mr. Winston looked tired and Jimmy Cooper was on this third glass of Scotch. No one seemed to realize it was already thirteen minutes after midnight and you can’t blame me for not having the heart to mention it. I merely motioned for Saul to come with me as I headed for the basement in need of some good old pool game.


End file.
